Nineteen
by Wondering What Breakfast Is
Summary: For as many years as he's been alive, there have been as many moments of love and loss. And if he could, he'd have them all over again.  Suzakucentric. SuzaLulu, SuzaGino, SuzaMilly.
1. I

_A/N: This collection is a very late birthday present for a good friend of mine. THIS IS FOR YOU, BUNNIES._

_Inspired by all forms of Touhou. Enjoy. _

xoxo

_.Time_

"We used to be good friends, remember?" Suzaku asks, gently and nervously, as if Lelouch will spurn him, as if he'll stare at him and smirk, as if he will forget everything all over again, as if the whole world will crumble beneath their feet if he denies him, with his childlike green eyens and his mouth slightly open ready for something more, may it be another word or a kiss. He is, in simple terms for a complex man, scared. Does he not remember? Does he even want to? Suzaku will admit to his crimes, to his flaws, to everything wrong, but for Lelouch to even suggest he didn't remember him, or the seconds they spent together, it would break his heart all over again. He almost dared to step forward, but after what felt like hours, Lelouch made his move. He gritted his teeth, frowning, violet eyes looking away. He spun on his heel, and kept his back turned to Suzaku.

"That's entirely wrong." Suzaku sighs, and Lelouch won't look at him. "It was long ago, but I remember. We weren't good friends, Suzaku... You were my very best friend." He pauses then walks away, leaving Suzaku with a bit of thinking time.


	2. II

_.Silence_

He chooses to fill the void his comrade leaves in his wake with his voice. Gino can't help it. He can't stand the lack of noise. He's bubbly, bouncy, eager to make life as fabulous as possible. Suzaku thinks he should tone it down, he says, and Gino just stares at him, wide eyes, like a puppy, cocking his head in confusion. Why would anyone want to be left alone with their thoughts, to find horrid memories, and to envision dystopian worlds, and to fall into traps laid by their own minds? That happens for him on accasion, so Gino has no intentions of ever knowing what goes on his friend's head, for it'll be much worse. But he figures that if he's loud enough for himself, he could be loud enough for the both of them. So he keeps talking, telling stories, blabbering about anything and everything, and making it a point to forget the filter Suzaku wishes he had. 


	3. III

_."Do not underestimate me"_

I am not as strong as you, I know. I am not as old, as wise, as determined, nor as hardened by this world or angered by its people. I haven't had the hardships you have, or the heartbreak. I didn't watch my princess, my lover die before my very eyes, or kill my own father. I didn't have to run away, I didn't have to fight my way to be a Knight. I've never been denied something because of my birth, rather, most things were given to me because of it. I've never had to choose between my friends and the right thing, or even have to choose between saving myself or someone else. I'm not the same as you, nor will I ever be. And sometimes, I'd rather not be you. But I'm still capable, still smart, still idealistic. I want to save the world just as much as you do, I want to protect the people I care for, and just because I'm not Japanese or of age doesn't mean I'm any less of a man than you are. I stumble over my own thoughts sometimes, and I'm not exactly the most eloquent guy, but you have to start trusting me. I am not you, Suzaku. I am not some hard-headed, stubborn, sullen man like you. I'm me, and Me is still a Knight of the Round. Me is still good at what he does, and loves doing what he does, and believes in himself. Me wants you to believe in him too.

Whether you choose to or not is up to you, but do not think I am any less of a person than you are.


	4. IV

_.brilliant insanity_

And she sits there with a stack of papers, almost as tall as her, and she stares at them. The council is gone for the day, but she manage to guilt her newest flunkey into staying behind. She doesn't make copies or get coffee- she has people do that for her. He is one of those people. Her poor secretary.

But she sits by the window, enjoying a plush office chair, feet on the boardroom-esque table, cup in hand (her coffee is iced and always tastes more like vanilla than mocha), and she smiles. A smile he would learn to fear in time. One of ideas, of memories, of what should never be imagined... She looks to him, but not. She looks beyond him, and tilts her head.

"I'm sure if we gave Lelouch a sequined glove, he would lighten up, and be a real _thriller_."

He stares at her, she's looking into space, and sips her coffee. Then all of a sudden, she laughs, and pulls a paper from the top of the girl-high stack, taking notes on the side, humming songs, doodling strange diagrams. She finally looks _at_ him, a half-smile on her face. "And I'm going to pin this all on you~"

He laughs with her, thinking it's all just a joke, but little does he know...


	5. V

_.ignore me again_

He's not his father, or his mother, or anyone with that much sway over his actions, and as much as he cares for him, the object of his affection does not feel the same. But there's a diffference between declining, and being just rude. And this wasn't once.

Or twice.

Or three times.

It was every time.

And he tries smiling, brushing it off as his way of handling situations, but the longer he refuses to even try being his friend, the angrier he himself becomes. Gino doesn't like when Suzaku forgets he's there, and thinks that the only person with nothing valuable to say is him. If he wanted to be forgetten, he could've remained a nobleman. But this wasn't how friends, or comrades even, should be together. So he pulls him aside, talking to him, asking him if there's something bothering him. Suzaku answers in the same bored tone he always does, and Gino's casual smile falls. They go back and forth, one needing answers, the other keeping secrets, until Gino grabs Suzaku by the collar and slams his back against a wall, close to tears.

Suzaku hans't flinched even once.

He shouts, begging him to just be friends, instead of this loathing he must have for him. Suzaku knows better, and say it's just indifference. But, in all honesty, he does try avoiding such energy like Gino has. Blue eyes show every emotion one could ever feel, and green eyes finally show sympathy, and something like regret. Gino releases him, and hurries away, but turns around, eyes red.

"I just hope that you won't be apathetic if my life is ever on the line. Because I would never forget to rescue you."


	6. VI

_.dancing on clouds_

He loves the colour of her eyes. They are the colour of summer skies, of secluded beaches, of great memories, of magic in the air, of her essence, of what he wished he was, and of his imaginings of her. She's bright, vivid, a kaleidoscope all on her own, and she makes him smile, the burdens of his past dissapating if only for a moment. If he had ever wanted to marry, he would want a girl like her. There was not a single rule with her; her only request was for him to enjoy life, and maybe her company.

And she offers to hold his hand when he's feeling lonesome, kiss him on the cheek every time she sees him, be honest with him about things that shouldn't worry her but do. And he promises to protect her as knights do, to cry in front of her when he feels awful, to think of her when his favourite song comes on the radio.

She loves the colour of his eyes too. They are the colour of spring leaves, of beach glass, of fresh ideas, of the wonders of the world, of his soul, of what she saw in him, and of her hopes for him. He's determined, brave, a knight until the very end, and he makes her think, even if she never truly understands everything he wants her to. She would want to be a noble again, if only to be a girl he could respect. He is the structure she longed for, in a way, and makes her feel like a princess at every turn.

They are happy balance together, finding joy in each other, he keeping her tethered to the ground, she lifting him up to the skies. And it is in that balance they can rest in a perfect medium, where birds and puffs of white rest, and where they waltz together.


	7. VII

_.what the hell, hero_

"You... you..."

"I did what I had to do."

"So now you're taking cues from me? Suzaku, you've never been like this, so why on earth would you-"

"It was for the good of the majority!"

"Say what you will, but you know as well as I do that murder could never be for any good."

"Says the man who does it for a living at this point!"

"Says the child who killed his own father!"

There is a pause between the two, their faces heated, fists clenched, the anger of their plights resonating against the white walls that surround them. The sterile environment magnifies the blood on both sets of their hands, and the guilt of crime seeps in deeper, like ink on paper. It hurt to breathe, to know the other one was no longer as innocent as they had hoped. For each other, they wanted a better world, one where the other would be free of past grievances. But they are both light and dark, always grey and never quite villain. The longer they look at each other, the more repulsed they feel by not only the others actions, but their own. Suzaku, with all of his now-materializing guilt looks away from the man who stole his first love, and turns, wishing to forget his mistakes, and that Lelouch will forget his too.

"No good can come from living like this, Kururugi. I am disappointed in what you've chosen."

He does not look back. He only sighs. "The same goes for you, Zero. No monster could ever be heralded as savior..."


	8. VIII

_.funeral_

And the two of them just stare at the headstone erected, the name it bears belonging to one of the men standing. They both know what is to come, they both knew this little formality was necessary. If anyone ever questioned it, well, who ever did see the dead walk again? For one of the men, it was strange to see what it would be like to be mourned, watching from a distance, seeing those who came out actually crying for him, and not scorning his name. For the other, it was the beginning of the end, his knight to guard him no more. He with the brown hair and dark cloak, and he with the black locks and straw hat both stare for a while longer, curious expressions on their faces. And silence remains with them until the black haired man snickers and ups the haughtiness that was characteristic of him.

"And may God have mercy upon his soul. Suzaku Kururugi, may you rest in peace." A smug little smirk comes across his lips, and while the dead did not walk, the dead could certainly laugh at such jokes.


	9. IX

_."your song?" "our song."_

Milly taps her fingers, Suzaku taps his toes. It's a nice sound, the two of them working together. It's not for her festival, or his job; it's just for themselves. The radio is playing music for once, instead of news updates fading in and out. She gets caught in a daydream, drawing gowns and humming a tune he is listening to at that moment. He recognizes it immediately, and he looks to her. She's completely in her own world, tapping the pencil on her paper. The hurricane known as Milly has calmed, if only for a minute.

He walks over to her, the padding of stockinged feet on carpet in time with the music. He wraps his arms around her wordlessly, and she sighs, looking up to him. He closes his eyes, swaying back and forth to the melody, letting himself enjoy the simplicity of the moment. She pulls his arms off him, and he groans, disappointed she rejected his (extremely rare) affections. But she stands up with him, and holds him close, her arms around his torso, and he chuckles. And he returns the favour, kissing her hair, rocking side to side with her, the music fading out, the radio having a mind of its own. But they don't let go of each other, because tomorrow he'll be gone in a war that should never have been his, and the sound of pure fear for his life will eclipse any reporter's voice. She doesn't need to hear who is dead at who's hands, she just needs to feel him alive in her arms. But their melody will always be drowned out by that of discord's.

One day, that won't be the case.


	10. X

_.red string of fate_

Crimson is not his colour. His colours are of nature. Bright, enticing. The green of fresh grass, the blue of Caribbean waters, the clean white of clouds in summer skies. He enjoys such colours, the crispness, the vibrancy they have. He wishes he was crisp, vibrant, natural, but wearing them is more than enough. Crimson is not one he wears of his own accord.

Perhaps once, he liked pink. Not magenta, but a blush, the hue young roses and young maidens alike wear with ease. He's never been a fan of yellow (or blonde, for that matter), as yellow is a harbinger or danger, chaos, and more hugs than he ever wanted. And crimson, the colour of blood, of rings keeping him alive, of ribbons that keep him connected to loves lost... While it certainly isn't in his favour and one he is not content to be associated with, it's unfortunately growing on him. His eyes are tinged with such a colour, those emerald eyes of his.

But even if he does not appreciate a colour as such, he remembers legends of lovers that were connected by a thread of that colour, and one day they did come together. Perhaps that thread led to another colour, that of evening skies, of rich wines, of mountains in the distance, of royalty and rebellion. That thread, he hoped, led to violet.

Just like Lelouch's eyes.


	11. XI

_.spitfire_

Volatile, angry, hurt by the world's betrayal, his own life falling apart, and the best revenge he can come up with is to take down men with dreams for women with hopes. He's still lost, unsure if what he's doing is truly right, and the more he questions it, the more rage builds. In the privacy of his room, he is free to sob, scream, break vases, and lose his mind. But as soon as Gino enters the room, all is done. There is no more to shout about, nothing that can upset him. Anya says it's because Gino's exuberance drains the energy of people within a certain radius. And he would agree, normally, but he's the only person in the world who still smiles at him because he wants to.

Gino, for all of his quirks, is careful with him. He understands there are things to refrain from discussing, places not to go... And while everyone else prods and pokes and makes him miserable, angry, enough to break glass and noses at the drop of a hat, Gino is there, blue eyes and all, with a smile that leaves him breathless, oxygen removed from flames.


	12. XII

_.reverse_

He imagines, when he should be listening, a life far different from their own. They start off as old men with battle scars, sitting in wheelchairs, whining about younguns, telling their granchildren tales of when they knew the Empress, and times they've seen her. He is still loud as ever, smiling, his partner in crime adjusting his glasses every so often, happy to have green tea nearby. Time fades to where they're fresh retirees, wine replacing the green tea, wrinkles not so deep set, their humour with each other like they're still young men, hearty laughs abound. Perhaps they have wives, or husbands, or each other, but in the end they are still understanding the world far better than before. And time changes yet again, to where grey hairs do not exist for them, the thought of a third generation belonging to them is sort of silly, and generals can be men with realisitc goals and plans for an empire, like they do. They have children, bright young sons and daughters who know their fathers care for them and their future, regardless of how unfair their rules may seem. (_Euphemia, darling, 5AM is not an acceptable curfew..._) In his mind, the clock continues its backwards trek, and it settles for a not so distant future, where love is not as fresh and new as it was once, but it still holds some magic for those blue eyes to fall in love with those of green, sending bouquets, a small kiss of the cheek in public, being able to cook together... Yet again, his mind drags him farther back, to boys with all the insecurities puberty brings, joking, cracking up at crude jokes, blushing when girls so much cooler than they'll ever be walk by. Then to young children, with wide eyes and pure hearts, holding hands because it's nice and not because it means so much. And then, before his imagination takes him farther, Suzaku says something, a smirk on his face. Gino just nods, and looks down to his doodle-notes, blushing furiously.

He truly wonders how different things would be if they knew each other as children, and if he would love him just as much.


End file.
